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Posting new articles (for members of our group)

 The changing times7 comments
picture This is a poem written by our newest member, Shimanta.  Read More

 3-strike aleft, arite...4 comments
picture ...or Las Vegas lust...  Read More

 Dragon's Sleep9 comments
picture and you didn't believe.. did you.... *grins  Read More

 I Will Ride To Kalmykia5 comments
picture Welcome to The NCN Poet Tree Anthology...we hope you'll enjoy this evolving, involving and revolving selection of prose from NCN poets, worldwide - submissions are welcomed.  Read More

 Geraldine Reid.5 comments
Geraldine Reid is from Belfast. I have not seen her for over 20 years. She is a born Poet. Was a passionate lover and a most caring human woman. When I moved into a new house. I had no money, no furniture or carpets. Little food, No cigarettes and a very bad case of flu. I had one blanket and one cushion. But fortunately! District Heating, so at least I was warm. After not hearing from me for a week. Geraldine came out from Belast. A distance of twenty miles by bus! Though she could not afford it. She was agast at my state, went out and came back with cigarettes, she knew my priority! She went out again, after she has made me comfortable. Came back with enough food for both of us that evening. A few hours later. There was a hammering on my front door. And then! there were hard looking men and hard women. In and out with shopping and furniture. and soon I was wrapped up in a clean and warm bed. I lay listening to their West Belfast accents. Enjoying their company. Geraldine had telephoned into West Belfast. Into hard country, where you do not walk alone at night, unless you are Republican. These are hard people, condemned outright as having no human side. I know different. These lovely people used their own benefit money, to ensure I was okay. They came into a Prod! area. Dangerous for Tegs! But these are only titles. I do not know their names, have never had chance to say thank you. But if any read this so many years later. I have not forgotten you and your kindness. Thank you.

Kernerwek Prydythe.  Read More


 This then is Ireland.4 comments
I have a great love of Ireland, but she has been a vast source of human grief. I have set my blood line into her stones and my human tears are her Corrib and the waterfall of the Galway Salmon weir. And the ancient longing with a human heart. Is her Curlews calling across silent lakes.

Kernerewek.  Read More


 For Eileen Kelly.2 comments
picture Simply a memory of my first Wife.

Kernerewek.  Read More


 Not an Attic, but a quiet room.8 comments
picture As in history. I once wrote in an attic. A large victorian house in Clapham. Though this attic was quite huge,with a single broken sash window, which I altered by removing the sash and replacing it with a casement window, so I could elbow lean and gaze into distance and sky.

I have been writing for well over thirty years. In the main poetry ,but now I work on a novel. I have gained slight recognition, by accident rather than intent. Of late I have begun to publish on the internet, and I am building an on-line anthology, using my free web space.

There are many works and many that have been destroyed over the years, including all the longhand scribbles that showed the build of a poem. What I leave behind me. Is not the mechanics of writing, but the thoughts from a Poets nature.

I write only for its own sake, not for fame or recognition. And I write using a computer keyboard, rarely altering any work once it is written. Even now. I fall into another phase, where poetry changes into a greater maturity of human understanding. Within an absolute that is undeniable. Held tight by a measure that has no mark by which to rule. Such measure contains another absolute. That of an awareness of human content. I recognize my human role, as the measure slowly fades into a return into the debri of stars. As I begin so I end.

Kernerewek  Read More


 Word painting8 comments
picture when words have their own sense of urgency  Read More

 Torso bits8 comments
This poem was written after the devastating storm of 1991 when thousands of trees were uprooted around England by the gales and storms. I went to Richmond Park then and some 6 months later, close to home then, and stared at the giant trees with their roots silouetted, all around me. It was a hollocaust. At the same time I had just interviewed the most contraversial experimental architect in Japan, Montozuma for whom I had to research the history of Japanese religious thinking, as his architecture was mythological and culturally symbolic. This architect was a Metabolist, obsesseed with constricting and repetitive factory like robotic shapes, which were hugely disturbing.  Read More



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Welcome to The NCN Poet Tree Anthology...we hope you'll enjoy this evolving, involving and revolving selection of prose from NCN poets, worldwide - submissions are welcomed.


Previous Poet Branches & Jams
2007-02-17
  • Between Bomb Blasts

  • 2007-02-11
  • A Valentine...

  • 2007-02-08
  • Just one World by Monica

  • 2007-01-02
  • Starting

  • 2006-12-16
  • Solstice oh 6

  • 2006-12-09
  • Vanilla pi

  • 2006-11-24
  • Windshield Whipped

  • 2006-11-19
  • BIENVENIDOS

  • 2006-10-28
  • ill you shun

  • 2006-08-30
  • Life Sentence Project

  • More ..

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